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Amelia shivered as she tiptoed her way up the long staircase and slipped into the empty front salon. It was not only the heavy silence that made her cringe. Nor the squeak of worn floorboards that seemed to echo eerily through the heavy air. It was more the prickling sense of self-reproach that grew more pronounced with every step.
She should not be here, a stern voice chastised in the back of her mind. She had left her house to take a simple walk. To clear her mind and consider what was to be done. But even as she had left her home she had discovered her feet determinedly heading in a straight line to this town house. Almost as if she were being inwardly compelled to seek out Mr. St. Ives.
That compulsion had remained even when she had discovered no response to her numerous pulls upon the bell. Sensibly, she knew that she should return home. She should not even have come. But, then, she had not followed the sensible course.
Instead, before she was even aware of what she was doing, she had pushed the door open and boldly stepped into the foyer. The empty silence that greeted her only prodded her onward. The gentleman had proved to be decidedly reluctant to answer her questions, she remembered, attempting to justify her unreasonable behavior. And she was quite certain that he knew more of this shadow, and the ghastly murder, than he was willing to confess. Why should she not use this obvious opportunity to her advantage?
Glancing about the large salon, she studied the furniture, still shrouded in covers, and the windows that did not appear to have been washed in the past several years. Amelia frowned. There was a barren, neglected air about the room. Definitely a bachelor's home, she acknowledged. Any woman would have had the house scrubbed from top to bottom before ever setting foot inside.
Indeed, it was almost as if no one lived here at all.
Gnawing upon her lower lip, she moved through the shadows, seeking some sign of occupancy. It was the right house, was it not? She could not be mistaken. This had to be the house the stranger had led her into.
Absently turning, with the vague thought of continuing her search to another room, Amelia came to a sharp halt. She had heard not a sound, but leaning negligently in the doorway was a large male form. A magnificent male form attired in a smoke gray coat and black breeches.
Oh . . . blast, she cursed silently. She was in the soup now.
A decidedly embarrassing soup.
The brilliant silver gaze was hooded as it silently flicked over her.
“So, it was not a mouse that I heard scurrying about my house, after all. Instead it is a rather unexpected guest,” he murmured in his dark, honey-accented tones.
Her hand pressed her pounding heart. “Oh, Mr. St. Ives.”
A bronzed brow slowly arched. “I did not expect to encounter you again so soon, Miss Hadwell. A delightful surprise, of course, but I am rather displeased with my housekeeper. She did not bother to tell me that you had arrived.”
Amelia shifted uneasily. There was no ready lie to explain her wicked behavior. She had boldly been nosing about his house, like the lowest sort of sneak thief, and had been caught.
There was little to do but own up to the truth.
“No, it was not your housekeeper's fault. I did knock but there was no answer. I . . . I sneaked in so I could look about.”
“Ah.” The silver gaze slowly trailed down to the hands that were tightly clenched at her side. “A rather odd habit.”
“It is not my customary habit,” she retorted in wry tones. “As a rule, I possess all the usual manners. I suppose my only excuse is the fact that I desired to learn more of you.”
Surprisingly, the full, sensuous lips twitched at her ridiculous words.
“Learn more of me? Why?”
“Well, you seem rather determined to remain a mystery. I suppose I thought to discover more of you.”
He glanced pointedly about the barren room. “Among the dust sheets?”
The heat returned to her cheeks. “I realize that I was being absurd. In truth, I do not know what I sought. I am not thinking very clearly this day.”
There was a moment of silence as he studied her tense countenance more closely. A sudden frown tugged at his brows.
“You are troubled? Has something occurred?”
Amelia hesitated a mere heartbeat before giving a slow nod. Perhaps it was not entirely fair to unburden her troubles upon a gentleman who was little more than a stranger. But, the need to confess her latest troubles with someone, anyone, was undeniable.
“Yes, a Mr. Ryan from Bow Street called upon me this morning. He was asking . . . questions.”
The pale features hardened at her words, and for a moment Amelia was sharply reminded of the faintly alien quality about him. It was in the elegant perfection of his countenance and the sinuous grace of his movements. He seemed somehow . . . above other gentlemen. As if there were more to him than the usual London dandies.
Thankfully unaware of her absurd thoughts, Mr. St. Ives held out his arm.
“We must speak of this, but not here. We will be more comfortable in the library.”
Amelia found herself placing her hand upon his arm and allowing herself to be led from the room. Deep within her, she realized that it was certainly not proper to be alone with this man. A maiden never called upon a bachelor. Most especially when there did not even seem to be a servant about.
But neither did they sneak into homes or lie to Bow Street runners, she acknowledged wryly. It was rather too late to become missish at this point.
In silence they moved down the shadowed hall, and then with great care Mr. St. Ives turned her into a large, surprisingly cheerful library.
Consuming two floors, it possessed a lovely bay window and, far above on the ceiling, a fine rendering of Apollo pursuing Diana.
With a hint of bemusement, she regarded the towering shelves that were bulging with an enormous collection of leather-bound books. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands. It seemed impossible to believe that any one man could ever work his way through such a vast number of tomes in an entire lifetime of study.
There was nothing neglected about this room, she acknowledged as she was settled onto one of the wide wing chairs. Everything was polished and gleamed with loving care. It was obvious Mr. St. Ives cared more for the privacy of his books than the more public rooms that remained shrouded in dust.
“Here you are.”
With a blink, Amelia realized that her host was pressing a glass of amber liquid into her hand. She slowly lifted her gaze to meet the simmering silver eyes.
“Brandy? Is it not rather early in the day?”
He gave a lift of one shoulder. “You are pale and clearly in need of something to settle your nerves. I believe brandy is the prescribed cure for such a malady.”
Well, it could not hurt, Amelia acknowledged as she lifted the glass and took a cautious sip. At first the smoky flavor filled her mouth and warmed her tongue in a rather pleasant manner; then, without warning, a fire blazed down her throat and hit her empty stomach with unexpected force.
“Ugh.” With a grimace she pushed the glass back into his hand. “It is not much of a cure.”
His lips twitched but he readily set aside the glass before settling upon the matching wing chair and regarding her with a steady gaze.
“Perhaps you will feel better if you tell me what the runner desired.”
Folding her hands in her lap, Amelia sucked in a deep breath. “He came to me to warn that a young prostitute had been discovered murdered in the lane.”
“You did not reveal that you had seen the body?” he demanded.
“Of course not.” Her tongue peeked out to wet her dry lips. “But he said there had been a witness.”
Mr. St. Ives abruptly stilled. “A witness? Who?”
Amelia discovered herself regarding her companion with a measure of surprise. There was an unmistakable edge of danger about him. A danger that was nearly tangible.
“Mr. Ryan said that it was a gentleman who was passing by the lane. He claimed to have seen a large man with dark hair with a woman. Then the runner asked to speak with William.”
“I presume you refused?” he asked in rather distracted tones.
“Yes, I said William had been ill and in bed for the past few days.”
Far from being shocked by her blatant lies, Mr. St. Ives gave an approving nod.
“That is well. I do not believe that William would comprehend a need for silence.”
“No, but I do not think that Mr. Ryan was entirely convinced,” she confessed with a worried frown. “I fear he is quite intent upon seeking out William to question him.”
“A problem, certainly,” he murmured.
Amelia's frown deepened. He appeared oddly preoccupied, as if he were barely attending to her words.
“What is it?”
His pale fingers tapped a restless tattoo on the arm of his chair. “It is odd.”
“Odd?”
“This witness claims to have seen a man with dark hair and a woman?”
Amelia stifled a surge of impatience. “Yes.”
“If it was your brother who the man observed, then who was the woman?” he demanded in low tones. “You did not find William until we were together. It is not possible that this witness could have seen you alone with your brother. So why did he lie?”
Chapter 4
Sebastian watched in silence as the young maiden pondered his words. It was obvious that she had been too rattled by the appearance of the runner to consider with clarity the claim of the witness. Now she ruthlessly gnawed her lower lip as her swift wits attempted to make sense of the insensible accusation.
A sharp, poignant desire to soothe her poor, maltreated lip swept through Sebastian with shocking force.
He closed his eyes briefly. Perhaps ridiculously, he had hoped that the hours he had devoted to lecturing himself upon the danger of heedless passions would have rid him of the peculiar awareness that afflicted him when this maiden was near. Or at least allowed him to keep such tempting sensations at bay.
She had only to enter his home, however, for him to realize that his lectures had been futile. For whatever unfathomable reason, this woman managed to stir to life a heat and desire that had never plagued him before.
Seemingly unaware of the prickles of awareness that skittered through his body, Miss Hadwell at last met his probing gaze with a bewildered frown.
“Perhaps the witness was mistaken. Perhaps he saw the two of us together.”
Sebastian grimaced. He already possessed his own suspicions of this supposed witness. It had the stench of Drake.
“I do not have dark hair,” he pointed out in low tones. “And besides, I would have known if there were another near.”
She lifted her slender hands. “Then perhaps William did see the woman before we arrived. He might even have spoken with her.”
His expression hardened. “I do not believe William noticed anything beyond his beloved kittens. And there is still the true murderer who must be accounted for.”
A visible shudder raced through her as he forced her to realize that it had been no simple mistake that had led the runner to her door.
“But why?” she whispered in an unsteady tone. “Why would the man lie?”
“He obviously desired to have William implicated in the murder.”
The dark eyes were nearly black as she struggled to accept the truth. “Who? Who would do such a ghastly thing?”
“That I intend to discover, my dear,” he said grimly.
“This is horrible.” Without warning, she covered her face with her hands, as if battling the urge to cry. “Poor William.”
Barely aware that he was moving, Sebastian had slipped from his chair to kneel beside her. He might rue her brash spirit and reckless bravery, but he realized that he could not bear to see it broken. His heart clenched in pain as he reached out to gently place an arm about her shoulders.
“Do not fear, Amelia,” he said softly. “I will let nothing happen to you.”
Her eyes slowly lifted to regard him with a haunted gaze. “I do not fear for myself.”
His lips twisted in a wry manner. Of course she did not fear for herself. She would bravely storm the flames of the nether world. She would march onto the battlefields of Napoleon with her head high. She would no doubt face death itself without flinching.
Her only weakness was her brother.
A weakness that the treacherous Drake had clearly decided to use to his own advantage.
“No,” he agreed as his fingers absently stroked the satin skin of her shoulder. “I realize you possess no concern for yourself.”
She seemed taken aback by his words. “That is not true.”
“When was the last occasion you simply did something for your own pleasure?” he demanded in soft tones. “A walk in the park, reading a book, attending a party?”
“I find pleasure in seeing my brother secure and happy,” she retorted defensively.
His fingers tingled as they traced aimless patterns upon her skin. “You, my dear, are a most unusual woman.”
A reluctant hint of amusement glinted in the dark eyes. “Should I be insulted?”
“No, it is a most sincere compliment.” He studied the delicate features, lingering a heartbeat upon the temptation of her mouth. “Although I will admit a grudging compliment.”
She lifted her brows. “What do you mean?”
Sebastian knew that he should move to a less perilous position. Her distress had been controlled and the familiar unquenchable spirit was once again sparkling in her eyes. But his body refused to obey the commands of his common sense.
It was far too delightful to touch her in such an intimate manner.
“I am a gentleman who has devoted his life to the study of logic,” he admitted dryly. “I am unaccustomed to being . . . distracted by young maidens.”
He heard her breath catch as her eyes widened in surprise. “You find me distracting?”
“Dangerously so.”
She regarded him closely, as if seeking some truth there. “Are you just saying this to try and charm me?”
Sebastian gave a low chuckle, his hand moving to cherish the delicate lines of her face.
“If I desired simply to charm you, I would tell you that your eyes possess the dark velvet beauty of a midnight sky.” His fingers brushed over her mouth. “Or that your lips are so lush and full that they entice a gentleman beyond bearing.”
He felt a shiver race through her. A shiver that was echoed within himself. Then she gave a breathy laugh.
“I was mistaken.”
“Mistaken?”
“You are far more proficient at flirtation than I suspected,” she murmured.
His lips twisted with rueful humor. “No, you were quite correct, my dear. As I said, I am a simple scholar and not at all prepared for the likes of you.”
A sudden heat filled her cheeks as she gazed at him through the tangle of her long, black lashes.
“Do you mind?”
Finding it absurdly difficult to concentrate upon her words, Sebastian leaned even closer to the damnable temptation of her lips.
“Mind what?”
“Being distracted,” she whispered.
“Yes.” His mouth hovered a mere breath from her own. “Unfortunately, there appears to be little I can do.”
“Oh.”
A heartbeat passed as Sebastian trembled on the edge of blissful madness. One move, a mere tilt of his head, and he could explore the sweetness that beckoned him.
Her lips would be warm and satin-soft with the taste of innocence. They would gently part to invite a more intimate exploration as she arched to press her curves next to his aching body.
Sharp, dazzling heat raced through his blood, stirring the dark passions that had lain dormant for so long.
Thankfully, it was that very heat that abruptly brought him back to his sadly forgotten senses.
Sucking in a sudden breath, he surged to his feet. His body felt heavy and tight with an unfamiliar need. A need that he grimly ignored. He had to halt this foolishness. He could not allow himself to be distracted. No matter what the temptation.
“Perhaps we should return our attention to the reason you sought me out,” he forced himself to murmur.
For a moment it appeared that she was finding it as difficult as he was to shake off the lingering awareness of what had happened between them. There was a bemused expression and a hint of fire deep in the midnight eyes. Then, with a stifled gasp, she was on her feet.
“William! Good heavens, I nearly forgot. What am I to do?”
He absently pushed his fingers through the hair he had left loose. “For the moment, I fear there is nothing to be done.”
It was clearly not at all what she wished to hear.
“But what of Mr. Ryan? He is determined to speak with my brother.”
“He has nothing more than a vague description of a large gentleman with dark hair. That could easily include half the gentlemen in London.”
She wrapped her arms about her tiny waist. “Yes, but not half of the gentlemen in London were in the lane during the murder,” she pointed out in worried tones. “Once he speaks to William, he might very well be convinced he is guilty. If only . . .”
Her words trailed away, and Sebastian stepped forward as an odd expression crossed over her countenance. He experienced a decided chill. He already sensed that the expression could mean nothing but trouble.
“What?”
She nibbled her bottom lip as she considered her inner thoughts. “If only we knew who did commit the murder, then William would be safe.”
The chill struck again and Sebastian regarded her with a guarded expression. “You intend to reveal to Mr. Ryan that you saw a shadow kill the maiden?”
“Of course not. He would think me mad. And besides, I would have to confess I was not at home with William as I told him.”
“Then what do you speak of?”
Her features hardened abruptly. “I will discover the truth of this shadow myself.”
Although he had expected something ridiculous and carelessly imprudent, Sebastian still found himself caught off guard.
“No.”
She flinched at his sharp refusal, her spine stiffening and her chin rising in an ominous manner.
“I beg your pardon?”
Sebastian was intelligent, even for a vampire. His mind was well honed and trained to seek the truth. He had even studied the philosophies of mortals so he could possess a greater understanding of their tumultuous existence.
The moment called for subtle manipulation, whispered the voice of reason in the back of his mind. A gentle hand upon her reins. To challenge her pride blatantly would make her more determined than ever to behave the fool.
His intelligence at the moment, however, was astonishingly absent as he regarded the stubborn female with rising annoyance. She would not be allowed to put herself, nor the Medallion, in peril. Not for any reason.
“I have warned you of the danger,” he retorted in clipped tones. “The creature that attacked that woman would kill you without mercy.”
The dark eyes narrowed abruptly. “How do you know? What do you hide from me?”
“This is no harmless diversion, Amelia. Thus far it has been sheer luck that your reckless nature has not brought you sorrow. Such luck will not remain forever.”
Her hands landed upon her hips in open defiance. “If you will not tell me the truth, then I must discover it for myself. I will not allow anyone to harm William.”
Sebastian battled the urge to reach out and shake some sense into her. “You will risk death?”
The color drained from her at his stark question but she never faltered. “If I must.”
“This is foolishness,” he growled. “I forbid you even to consider such an absurd scheme.”
“Forbid me?” The features hardened with a dangerous determination. “By what right?”
“The right of common sense,” he retorted in exasperation. “If you wish to protect your brother, then return home and make sure he is not allowed to roam the streets.”
“I do not need your consent, Mr. St. Ives. I am in command of my life and make my own decisions.”
“Decisions fit only for a wayward child.”
Even as the angry words flew from his lips, Sebastian realized his error. Nothing, nothing could have been more perfectly calculated to make her dig in her heels.
Visibly bristling in anger, Amelia drew in a shaky breath. “I believe you have said quite enough, sir. I will wish you a good day and assure you that I shall not trouble you further.”
“Amelia . . .” He stepped forward, intending to make amends for his hasty words, but even as he held out a hand she was whirling on her heel and storming toward the door. He could follow, of course. She could not outrun him. She could not hide. But for the moment, he realized it would be futile. There was no doubt that she was being devilishly stubborn. And more than reckless. Still, he could not lay the entire blame upon her shoulders. She did not truly understand the danger. She could not possibly realize that the shadow she sought was a legendary vampire that could brutally kill her before she could blink. Until she knew the truth, she would rush blindly into danger and risk everything for her blasted brother. “Bloody hell.”
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Not surprisingly, Amelia returned home in a foul mood.
The man was an impossible, arrogant, overbearing beast, she told herself as she stormed to her home and slammed the door with a force that made her teeth rattle.
He had no right to order her about as if she were a child. For heaven's sake, she had boldly established her own life, her own household, and taken on the care of her brother. She had far more responsibilities than most females twice her age.
And she had been plodding along quite well without the interference of Mr. Sebastian St. Ives, she reassured herself grumpily.